Cry Once More, Like I Did Before
by 1in5billion
Summary: *Contains season 15 spoilers.* Teddy's point of view after 15x01-02. I felt so awful for her in that whole episode, and wondered where she went after her scenes with Maggie. It was left unclear when we'd see her next, so I wrote my own version. All credit for the italicized quote goes to the writing team for 14x17 "One Day Like This."
1. Wishing She Had Never Left At All

I woke up the next morning breathing deeply enough that I fooled myself into thinking I was almost at peace, so tangled up in sheets and blankets that it was as though I had tied them in knots around my legs before going to bed. My left leg in particular was tense and cramped, as if I had run a race without bothering to stretch afterward. And was that…? Yes, there was a pillow under it. But _why_? I kicked the sheets off as best as I could, but my legs were still white. _Why_ were they _white_? And then the whole day came flooding back to me.

Seattle. Interim chief. And then pain. Blinding pain, shooting up and down my leg. Blood clot. Embolism. And a _ridiculously_ long discussion on the definition of the word 'sister.' Not that I would know. I was an only child.

I tried sitting up again, gently this time, brushing my crumpled curls out of my eyes. I had slept _hard_. I only ever slept that hard after a breakdown—which it occurred to me a second later, yes, as rare as they were for me, I'd probably had one. My eyes were still puffy and burning like I _hadn't_ just slept an ungodly number of hours, and there was a dull pounding right above the bridge of my nose. And mascara stains on the pillowcase. I was still in my pencil skirt and blouse, hadn't even bothered taking my shoes off, and from the looks of things, I had cried myself to sleep.

I slowly swung my legs over the edge of the bed, bending forward slightly to take my shoes off and noticing that there was just a _little_ bit less room for me to lean down. My tiny human had grown overnight. And then I remembered the rest.

Owen. And Amelia.

I had tried to tell him about the baby. I had gone to his _house_. And this girl, this _child,_ had opened the door with an expression written all over her face that I didn't belong anywhere near them. Just like the first time I had been to Seattle, I was too late. He already had everything together, tied up so neatly that he might as well have put a bow around it. But I couldn't stay this time. Amelia was not Cristina. In the end, Cristina and I had gotten to be close enough that we might just have been friends. I still saw her in Europe—she had invited me to visit her hospital in Zurich and I'd gone to see her on a Friday morning in my full dress uniform. I returned the favor a few weeks later, and she came to Germany to tour my cardio department. But from the way Amelia was looking at me by the elevator, by the tone of her voice when she snapped that Grey-Sloan already had a head of cardio…she was defensive, and my presence in her life would never be a fully welcome one. I was supposed to stay in Germany, a safe distance away from them and the baby. I was still trying to wrap my head around that, though—he couldn't have biologically been Amelia's because of the timing, but his hair was dark enough. He was cute. _God,_ he was cute. And he was looking at Owen like there was nobody else in the world. Exactly how I wanted our child to look at him. Our child that he still knew nothing about, because instead of telling him, I had just taken my suitcases on a tour of the city, trying to run away.

After a full night of sleep, the guilt was starting to get to me, guilt about everything imaginable. I hadn't told Owen. I shoved him away without giving him a chance to explain, without giving him the benefit of the doubt like he would have done for me. I resigned from two jobs within two weeks, running away from one place only to wind up trying to run back. And I was alone again, feeling like a pathetic excuse for a single mother. I had even failed at running away, the one thing I was supposed to still be good at.

 _Deep down, you're terrified to be happy. And sure, you're fine to marry the dead guy. But when you have love, real love, staring you in the face, you run._

I hadn't even lived up to Owen's astonishingly low expectations. And now I was by myself in a hotel room, silently praying that my future child wouldn't hold all of this against me. If I didn't fix the mess I made, this sweet, innocent baby was going to have me as its only parent. A family. That's all I had wanted, a family, and for Owen to be a part of it. I wanted him involved even if he _did_ want to be with Amelia. Joint custody was better than him not knowing his child at all. But I'd seen the look on his face when he saw me. Shock…and then, unless my eyes were playing tricks on me, annoyance. And as fast as I was walking, I still heard him ask her why I hadn't called if I was in Seattle. Clinging to that one ounce of hope that he'd wanted to see me…that he'd _missed_ me? It made my chest tighten and my breathing get shallower.

"Head between your knees, Major," I whispered to myself with a hollow laugh remembering the last time I'd said those words. But I was too far gone. Between the panic and the fact that I was still in my first trimester and hadn't been freed from morning sickness yet, I was flying off of the bed and into the bathroom with my hand clamped over my mouth in seconds. But nothing happened. I let myself sink down onto the floor instead, listening to the sound of my own heart pounding and squeezing my eyes shut like I was going to cry. But I just took one deep, shuddering breath after another—all of the effort of sobbing with none of the tears. I didn't have any left. I had let them _all_ flow freely into the pillowcase the night before.

When I regained control over my breathing, I reached one arm out, closing my hand on the bathroom counter and lifting myself back up.

"Pull yourself together," I whispered, splashing cold water from the sink onto my face, still wincing slightly at my reflection. Sleep had done wonders for the shadows under my eyes, but I still had mascara everywhere I could have _possibly_ gotten it. I walked as quickly as I possibly could without limping to my suitcase, pulling out makeup remover, the makeup itself, black jeans, a black shirt, and black boots.

I couldn't figure everything out. That much was certain. But I could erase the evidence of my breakdown from my face. I could put on an outfit that covered up those god-awful compression socks. And I could sit on a bench in the park by the Space Needle with a cup of (decaf) coffee while I figured out what to do next. Because what the _hell_ was I going to do next?


	2. So The Walls Came Tumbling Down

I walked around Seattle for longer than I ever had before, maybe even longer than I should have. I had every intention of going back to my hotel—a thought that I couldn't help but laugh at because I _lived_ in the city again. It was a house like the one I'd had before, _just_ like the one with the deer in the backyard. Close to the hospital, but just far enough away that I could still breathe without feeling like I could get paged at any second. It was like a real home, an _actual_ environment that I could raise a child in. But how stupid was I to think Owen would want to be a part of it?

Of course he had moved on. Of course. I all but told him to. I opened my door and kicked him out before he even had a chance to put his shoes on. What would he want to do with me now? Just like it had when I woke up, the guilt crept right back into my head, continuing to eat me alive. I had lost my strongest and oldest friendship because I couldn't stop yelling at him long enough to explain where my feelings were coming from. Not that he was innocent—he had thrown some insults at me for no other reason than because he knew they would hurt me. Calling Henry "the dead guy," he was trying to strike every nerve possible, and it had worked.

 _Maybe it's for the best_ , I thought. _He can remarry Amelia and be with her and Leo and whoever that girl was who opened the door yesterday. Maybe all I would do is interrupt the perfect picket-fence life he has. Maybe I was never meant to be a part of it. Maybe all I would do is cause more problems for him. Like I hadn't caused enough problems._

 _But this could be easy once I get used to it. If I try this again and he really doesn't want us, I could be a single mother. I could do it._

But something about my own thoughts made me want to laugh— _if_ he doesn't want us? Tears stung my eyes as I pictured how my next meeting with Owen was going to go. That was no _if_. The possibility of him not wanting us…it was a _when_.

I sighed and put my face in my hands, desperately wishing for a moment that the coffee in front of me was caffeinated. That used to be my go-to coping mechanism. Even after all of the sleep I had gotten the night before, I could have drifted off again right there, at my table outside of the coffee shop. Exhausting. My life was exhausting.

"Teddy?"

I looked up, hesitant to turn around. That voice wasn't…no. It couldn't be. But a gentle hand came to rest on my shoulder, and sure enough, I stood up and found myself face to face with Evelyn Hunt, who pulled me into a bone-crushing hug the second we made eye contact.

"How are you?"

My head started to spin. How was I…? Pregnant, with a potentially life-threatening heart condition. Pregnant…with her _grandchild_.

"Good!" I lied through my teeth, returning her hug with a smile. But something wasn't right. She didn't smile back. She just studied my face as though she was searching for answers, taking in every inch of me until her eyes met mine again.

"Try again," she said softly.

"What?"

"I _know_ you," she answered. "I don't see you as often as I'd like, but I know you well enough to know what you look like when you're good. You're not good. Your smile usually reaches your eyes. What happened?"

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. Since Iraq, Evelyn had been the closest I had to a real mother, and she was right. She knew me. She talked me through my feelings for Owen when he married Cristina and—although I would never admit this to him—was the first person to compare our lives to Bridges of Madison County. When my PTSD reached a breaking point after I first moved to Seattle, she convinced me to see a psychiatrist, figuring out every possible way to keep me from backing out of it, even driving me to the appointment to eliminate the temptation of getting in my own car and driving away instead of going in. And nine months before, I spent more time with her than I had in years, curled up on Megan's bed at Grey-Sloan, talking and laughing with _both_ of them. Almost like I had a real family.

Which, I was _again_ painfully reminded, I did not.

"I…I'm just tired," I said, finally. This, at least, was the truth.

"Tired," Evelyn repeated.

"I just flew here from Germany." Also true. "The jet lag is getting to me pretty badly."

"And I'm sure your decaf coffee is doing wonders," she said sarcastically.

"I'm going back to my hotel," I said. "Back to _bed_."

Still the truth. The day had barely begun and I was ready to sleep it off.

"Come over for dinner tonight." It wasn't an invitation; it was clear from her tone that I was going, whether I wanted to or not. "Get some sleep, and when you feel like a functioning person again, we can try this one more time. I'll come pick you up at five, okay? Where's your hotel?"

"I've already been all over the city today," I said, forcing a laugh. "My hotel's right there. Next door."

"Okay." She pulled me into another hug, a softer one this time. "Sweet dreams, honey."

I turned and started to walk away, but stumbled as the front of my shoe caught an uneven part of the sidewalk. My legs buckled, but I didn't fall, and I turned back toward Evelyn, trying to laugh it off. But she wasn't looking at me. She was holding something, and my whole body went rigid when I realized what it was. The ultrasound picture that I had gotten in the habit of taking everywhere…it had fallen out of my pocket. She was, for the first time, looking at her grandchild.

For one wild moment, I wondered if, on some level, she knew who the father was. If she _knew_ this baby was her family. But my own mind chased that thought away—she had always considered _me_ part of her family. By extension, _of course_ this baby would be part of that.

After an uncomfortably long silence, she took a few hesitant steps toward me, holding the picture out. I wanted to take it back, I had to take it back, but I was still frozen. I could silently will my arms to move as much as I wanted, but it wasn't going to do anything. I was stuck.

"You know," Evelyn said, reaching over to put the picture back in my pocket, "Owen went to Germany about three months ago. He didn't…specify…what he did there. Just that he went. And he doesn't…I mean…he wouldn't go to Germany without visiting you, would he? That seems so unlike him."

Her voice was steady, but she was speaking so fast, there was no doubt that she knew _exactly_ who the father of this baby was. She didn't seem upset. But there were so many unanswered questions. Her confusion was warranted—Owen hadn't told her anything, I hadn't even lived in _Washington_ for more than a few days…something was _off_ about this entire situation.

"Teddy…honey…what aren't you telling me?"

"He's living with Amelia again," I blurted, and before I could stop myself, I was crying again like I had the night before. I had _never_ been a loud crier, but the noises I was making weren't even _human_. It sounded like I was being strangled. And although I had never experienced being strangled personally, I could only imagine the tightness in my throat was how it felt.

"Come here, sweetie, I've got you," she said, wrapping her arms around me, and I collapsed into her.

"I'm sorry," I said into her shoulder.

"No, no apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"This is—at least—50% hormones," I said in between hiccupping sobs. "I think."

She released me from the hug, putting her arm around my shoulders.

"W-where are we going? I thought you were going home. Really, Evelyn, I'm fine. I'll sleep this off and see you later," I said, frantically wiping at the tears on my face.

"I'm not leaving you. You don't have to face this by yourself."

The automatic doors of the hotel breezed open, and I turned my head away from the check-in desk. Even looking away, I could feel the receptionist's eyes on me, but I focused my gaze on everything, _anything_ , else until we got to the elevator. On the short ride to the third floor, Evelyn's arm dropped from my shoulders and she took my hand in both of hers.

"Want to know something funny about this hotel?"

"If it makes you laugh, I'll hear _anything_ ," she answered.

"No promises," I said. "What's funny about the hotel…is that I have no reason to be here. I have a _house_. I've been in the process of moving back for the past two weeks. Everything's moved in, except for the last two suitcases. The ones I have here. This has just become the best-played game of hide-and-seek that Seattle has ever seen."

I reached down to hold the room key up to the door.

"Except…no one's looking for me," I said, and I could feel the sadness aching in my chest again. "But look on the bright side. That means I'm winning, right?"

"Sure, dear," Evelyn said, sitting down at the foot of the bed and pulling her phone out.

"W-what are you doing?" I said, as I heard the familiar sound of FaceTime trying to connect.

"Calling Megan," she said, and I let my purse fall to the floor.

" _What?_ "

"We're going to help you. Owen misses you. And the baby…I know you won't believe me right now, but I can _promise_ you that this will be a welcome surprise for him. You're both going to be so happy. You just have to get through this stage first. And that's what we're here for, to help you through it."

"Hi, Mom," Megan's voice rang through the room. "Where are you? Wait…is that… _Teddy_?"

Evelyn looked at Megan, then at me, and then back to Megan.

"Teddy…your family is gathered."


	3. How I Hate to See You Like This

At the end of the night, I hugged Evelyn goodbye in the hotel lobby. She had stayed close to me for longer than I ever could have dreamed, and _much_ longer than I ever would have asked her to. We talked to Megan for two hours, went back to her house and made dinner together—just long enough for me to forget that anything was wrong in my life. But of _course_ , the second she was gone, it all came flooding back. It was a cycle, one that I was almost certain would never end.

I collapsed into bed and squeezed my eyes shut, begging myself to _please_ just _sleep_. But I couldn't. The things that I so desperately wanted to close my eyes and escape were the exact things keeping me awake. The clot was still there. I was being medicated for it and getting closer to the point where I could go back to living my life the way I normally did, but there was still a dull ache in my leg and my arm was dotted with bruises from the syringe I had to stick in it every few hours. And emotionally…I was tired, the kind of tired that no amount of sleep could fix. On the surface, I looked better than I had in years. I had that pregnancy glow that Evelyn had commented on more times than I could count. But looking closer at my reflection in the mirror, my heart sank when I noticed how exhausted my eyes looked. They had completely lost their sparkle, and my smile didn't quite light them up like it used to. I had done the exact thing I'd told myself I would never do. I had let myself look as hurt as I felt.

Under the covers, I hugged myself a little tighter, wrapping my arms around the tiny bump where my baby was.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I'm trying for you. I really am. I came here because I thought I could give you a whole family, but now I'm not sure how to do that or where to go from here. I gave you a grandma and an aunt, but I'm having the hardest time giving you a father. I wish there was more I could do about it right now, but I think I have to take it one day at a time.

Whatever happens, you will _always_ have me. It's been seventeen years since I last knew what it felt like to have a parent, a parent who was _mine_ and not one that I borrowed from someone else, and I never _ever_ want you to feel that way. I want to hold you, and let you wrap your hands around my fingers while you take your first steps, and drop you off on your first day of preschool, and pretend to get upset when you want to stay up past your bedtime, when I'm secretly glad that it means I get to spend more of my day with you.

And if I'm ever brave enough to leave this hotel and move into our house, we're getting a puppy. I've been looking into adopting a golden retriever from the shelter by the hospital and they're going to let me start doing visits with him when I get home. They don't know where he came from. He just kind of appeared there. All they knew when he came in was that his collar said his name was Henry, and that he was about six years old. When I first saw him in the shelter, he ran in circles around my legs with his tail wagging like crazy. I sat on the floor with him for a while and he rested his head _right where you are_ , and they told me he had never connected with anyone that way before. I took that as a sign. Someday, I'll tell you why.

Anyway. You and I are going to be just fine. No matter what. I love your dad more than I've been able to love anyone in a very long time. But I also love him enough to let him go. It wouldn't be the first time. I think he loves me. I think he loves Amelia. I won't force him to explain anything to me, but I know he has a choice, and it won't be an easy one.

The worst that can happen is that he lets us go. It'll be hard. But it's nothing that we can't get through. We'll have a good life, just you and me. If there's anything I'm sure of, it's that I can love you enough for about ten parents combined."

On the table next to me, my phone buzzed, and I almost ignored it. I was sure it was another person who didn't know me, telling me about something else that I had unknowingly done wrong. But something made me read the message, and my heart dropped to my toes.

Owen.

"It was good to see you yesterday. I was worried you had gone back to Germany, but my mom said she ran into you. She told me about the clot. I guess that's why she sounded kind of weird when she called. Hope you're doing okay. Talk to me if you need anything."

Okay. _Okay_. It was such a loaded word, an _extremely_ objective word. On a technicality, I was okay. I had cried myself to sleep at least one night a week since I had taken the pregnancy test five weeks before, but I was alive, wasn't I? So I was okay. I was scared to move, or even breathe, in case one wrong step took my baby away, because losing another person I loved might just finish me. But the baby was fine, right? So I was okay.

"I'm okay," I typed back. "Thanks for checking. Germany's out until I'm cleared to fly again, so maybe I'll see you around the city sometime."

I hit send and turned my phone off, a precaution I took to keep myself from being tempted to read whatever reply I might get. Sleep. That was my priority. A full night of sleep and then I was leaving the hotel. My fake-casual tone and improvised sense of normalcy killed me to type, and was like a slap in the face to send, especially to Owen. I needed to talk to him, face to face, and tell him how _not_ okay things were. But I had to stabilize myself first.

I tilted my head down toward the baby one more time.

"We're going home tomorrow. I promise."

And then I dropped into the most restless sleep I'd gotten in years.


End file.
